The carefully constructed walls she had built around herself in the years following her husband’s death collapsed. Her defenses, which she had prided herself on being impenetrable, were gone. She made a helpless sound of longing, the whimper hatched from her throat and unable to be quelled by reason or pride. And then her tongue was writhing against his, licking at him, devouring him as he consumed her. They were feasting on each other, their kisses turning ravenous. Battling each other for control.
A thump and clang interrupted the stillness of the night, and she realized it was the fire poker, fallen from her limp fingers to bump into the wall and land on the carpets. His grip on her wrist eased until he released her altogether, and his hand went instead to her waist, holding her in a firm, intimate grasp that made her feel like someone’s lover. Made her long for midnight kisses and caresses sweeping over her bare skin, for whispers in the darkness and long, languorous kisses, and a man who wanted her desperately.
Curse her body’s traitorous response.
Pamela pressed her palm against his shoulder, but the instinct to shove evaporated as surely as her resolve. Because her fingers curled into the cool softness of his waistcoat, burrowing into the powerful muscle bunched beneath, and there she stopped. Not pushing him away from her, but grasping a handful of fabric instead to pull him nearer.
He made a low sound in his throat. Approval? Desire? Victory?
She didn’t know. All she did know was that he was kissing her as she hadn’t been kissed in years. Making her feel things she had no right to feel as a proper, respectable widow alone in the darkness with a man she’d only just met in passing earlier that afternoon. A man filled with secrets and mysteries, with cold hazel eyes and an impassive countenance that was as stark as it was handsome.
He deepened the kiss, his lips moving with skillful seduction over hers, and suddenly her other wrist was free as well. But this one, too, rebelled against her conscience’s firm determination to do what was right. Her hand rose, tentative, to rest on his cheek. The prickle of his whiskers delighted her as he cupped her nape, long fingers cradling the base of her skull, keeping her from the hardness of the wall at her back. Almost gently, tenderly, as if he wished to protect her even as he consumed her. The gesture was at odds with the arrogant man who had whirled her into her room and entrapped her. Who kissed her and made himself so familiar with her person.
She was shocked and a little horrified at her response to him, and yet she could not seem to stop now that she had begun. She was starving for his touch, for his kisses, for that old remembered sensation of being the object of a man’s desire. How had she convinced herself, for all this time, that she had no needs? That she could be content alone and untouched?
For years, she had been so careful, so guarded. Her sole indulgence had been shopping. But fans and gowns and haberdashery had not filled the aching void inside her the way this scoundrel did. The way she knew, instinctively, he could.
What would it be like to be this man’s lover? To take his hand in hers and lead him to her bed, to seduce him under the forgiving moon? To forget past and future in favor of one night? She’d never believed she’d had it in her. But he had brought something to life, and the resurgence demanded to be answered. As they traded kisses and touches against the wall of her chamber, everything seemed possible.
She could remember what it was like to be desired.
To lie beneath a man, his big body hovering over hers, the thickness of him gliding inside her, filling her. And it wasn’t Bertie at all whom she was picturing in her mind, atop her in bed. It wasn’t Bertie she was longing for. Rather, it was this stranger whose kisses were turning her to flame and making her knees melt, inducing her to want things that must remain well beyond her reach.
She was wicked.
On a cry, Pamela turned her head, breaking the kiss, for she had gone too far. Beyond the pale. She mustn’t allow a moment more of this man, thisBeast’s, mouth on hers.
Her heart was beating fast. So fast. It was almost as loud in her ears as her ragged breaths, rising like a chorus of disapproval. Taunting her.
“What is it, Marchioness?” The hand at her nape moved slowly, almost affectionately, until he caressed her cheek.
She felt the metallic slide of a ring against her, warmed by his skin. Somehow, the lack of light made every intimacy they shared seem so much more heightened. How softly, how gently he touched her. It was the caress of a skilled seducer, she thought. Not the rough, bruising force of a villain who intended her harm.
“Who are you?” she asked again, because she couldn’t believe he was the man he had presented to her. There was nothing simple about him. He was more than a mere guard. He was intelligent and seductive, quick-witted, and thoroughly dangerous to her restraint.
“I’ve already told you. Beast, my lady.” His thumb—callused and rough—traced her cheekbone.
“No one is named Beast.” She wetted her lips and tasted him on her tongue, and it was like kissing him anew.
What had she done?
“Iam.”
She still didn’t believe him. “Why are you roaming about in the halls?”
“How else am I to guard the house and its occupants, keeping them safe?” Amusement laced his tone. “Do you suppose villains wishing to do harm respect the sanctity of sleep?”
The hand at her waist shifted, creeping to her ribcage. He caressed her there slowly, as if he had every right to do so. And worse, she allowed it.
Because she liked the way it felt.
“Of course not,” she said reluctantly, heart still beating hard and fast. Body still helplessly under his spell.
Slowly, his thumb traveled in maddening motions. After the frenzy of his kisses, such a simplistic touch should have been a disappointment, and yet it secretly thrilled her.
“You can trust me,” he added softly. “I’m here to keep you safe, Marchioness.”
But she didn’t feel safe, pressed against his warm, muscled body. She felt quite definitely in danger. In danger of losing her ability to resist him. In danger of losing her sanity. Her morals. Her self-respect.
